


Labyrinth

by j_gabrielle



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, M/M, more tags to be added as the story progresses, supernatural powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-25
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-09 11:27:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/773685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/j_gabrielle/pseuds/j_gabrielle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has always been able to see the secrets that people try to hide, has always been able to know things that he should not have known. His nightmares come true, so why does he not fear the man bathed in red?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating, warnings, and additional tags will be added and changed as this story progresses.

Jack Crawford pressed a hand to the sleeping child at his chest. Silently praising the gods, he was glad that the manic motions of his horseback riding did not wake the child. Dawn bloomed ever closer in the horizon, and Jack is keen to reach the pier before there was too much light.

The child is too clean, he decides. Jack himself is covered in the dust of the road and the stench of smoke. They will stick out like a sore thumb when they should be hiding in plain sight. Jack laments the lack of time they have on their hands, wishing for things they must now put behind them. He knows that if he were to close his eyes, he would see nothing but the bright flames that have consumed the citadel, would hear nothing but the sounds of the city screaming.

‘Poor child… Would you even remember your parents?’ He mused sadly, wrapping the little form closer to him. The child sleeps on in his enchanted slumber; utterly unaware of the turmoil that surrounds him, the hounds that nip at neither his feet nor the dangers his continued existence pose.

There is not a single bone in Jack’s body that does not ache. His body is exhausted, but his mind knows that the ship waiting for them at the pier is their only chance at seeing another dawn, at living another day longer. A life on the run is the only certainty they have left in the world. Jack blinks away the furious tears that threaten to fall.

“No good feeling sorry for yourself, Jack.” He chides himself. “No good at all.”

Light begins to dot the skies a blush pink red. Over the sound of the hooves, Jack could distantly hear the sound of the sea and the port city coming awake.

Steeling himself, he presses on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to Tacroy for holding my hands as I word vomits.

Jack gathered the firewood and piled them by the side of the hut, careful to steady them. The sky was beginning to lighten; he should’ve been ready by now. Knowing that time was of the essence, he slipped into the hut to pick up his pack.

“Remember what I told you?” He asked out loud as he strapped on his belt. “Will?”

The boy stares silently at him from his bed in the kitchen. In the cold light of dawn and the soft glow of the dying embers, he looks otherworldly. Will is now a boy of 13, well considered on the cusps of manhood although he is smaller than all the other boys his age. Anyone with two licks of sense would know that the ‘uncle and nephew’ living in isolation by the Churning Pool had naught a single blood to claim familial ties to; Will was always too fair even in the summer months, and there was no denying that Jack was once from the exotic trade lands to the south.

“The night is dark and full of terrors. Do not venture out after sunset, Alana will bring me some food every few days, there is enough firewood to last the winter.” The words spoken by a voice who no longer believes in the stories told to scare a child at night. A petulant pause, blue-grey eyes calmly defiant, “I remember, Uncle.”

There are bruise dark shadows under his eyes, and Jack wishes he could take away those sleepless nights he knows has been becoming too frequent of late.

Jack turned to face Will. Suddenly wistful, he longed for the days when he was a quiet and easy child to be around. “What else?” Jack prodded although he knows that Will is more than capable of taking care of himself.

“Keep the dogs close. They will keep me safe.” Will recited. “I will not speak of my nightmares to anyone. If someone tries trouble me, there is a dagger under the hearth, a sword in the corner, a sparring stick by the firewood. If I have to run, I should head to the caves at the foot of the mountain and wait until you come get me.” He looked away, wrapping his lanky arms around thin birdlike shoulders. “Why can’t I come with you?” Will whispered. “I-I dreamt that something is coming, Uncle Jack. It will bring fire and pain, and I do not want to be here when it comes. Take me with you? Please?” A dark shadow settled over Will’s face as it was wont to do when he talks about his visions.

Something in Jack breaks. Taking long strides, he kneels in front of him. He aches to comfort, to hold him in his arms and ward against all his bed dreams. “You know why you can’t right now. Everything you touch, anyone who even remotely brushes against you causes you to see these dark things. It’s for your own safety. One day, I promise. One day I’ll take you across the mountains, but for now do as you are told and stay here. I’ll try to get you a new book from the merchant two towns over.”

The promise of new reading materials placates Will, and he is smiling gently. “Alright.”

It was always hard to leave Will, but he could not avoid this. One of the decrees from the chieftain of their little village was that if you wanted to survive the winter, you had to hunt and gather whatever you needed on your own. You would do it in a group; the strongest survive sort of mentality. Jack despised it, thought it an unnecessary relic of their brutal past. But who was he to say anything?

It used to be that the other larger, older men would jostle him, spoil and steal his kills, but when Rhellon the blacksmith took the doe he had tracked for days, Jack made sure that in every future hunt no one would even come close to touching an animal felled by his arrow.

When he was younger, Jack would’ve left him in the care of the Blooms. They were bakers and one of the few kinder folks. But after Will’s seventh summer, after the incident with Mara in the square (one that will not escape the villager’s minds anytime soon), it was better to keep to their own little patch of land, secluded and away.

He had been away for three days when the horn blew.

Immediately, the group moved as one, abandoning their camp and racing back to the edge of the forest. What Jack saw then made his heart stop,

The smell of fire and of burning flesh permeates the air. All the other men rushes forward in their panic and urgency to help, but Jack stands rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes from the carnage in front of him, gripped by a terrible flashback to that night all those years ago when he had fled—

Will!

His mind screamed and he takes off running in the direction of his home. “Will! Will!” He shouted, panic rising like the flames. “Will!”

“Uncle Jack!!”

He spins around, catching sight of Will emerging from the line of trees. “Will!”

It is then that he sees and hears the horse rider, drenched in blood. In the moonless night and the shadows of a village razed, both horse and rider looked like demons sent from the gates of Hell. He thunders past Jack with ease, never stopping. Jack felt his heart stop. Will was in the rider’s line of sight and the child knows that he had been spotted. He wanted to tell Will to run, to flee, anything just to get him away.

Paralyzed, Jack could only watch on as the rider rode and snatched Will up by the back of his shirt, throwing him over on his front.

Jack pushed off and ran, chasing the rider and his horse.

He could hear Will screaming, a high and choked sound. Jack gives it all he’s got, and he is almost able to grab onto the tail of the horse when he trips and careens forwards into the dale. Pain blossoms bright and sharp, darkness begins to creep ever so closer in the corners.

The last thing he remembers is the muffled sound of Will calling out for him.


	3. Chapter 3

_fearfearhorrorparalysenau_ -

Will holds on as best he can, his head pounding in time to the hoof beats. The passing branches whip on his skin, setting his lungs on fire. Uncle Jack’s body in the dale disappears into the darkness of the night, and Will prays to the silent gods that they have not taken him yet.

He is acutely aware of his captor. Though he cannot see much of the man, Will can tell that he is strong; he has an arm around his waist, balancing them both in the sea of constant motions. But as his eye catches the designs on the reigns and feels his heart sink.

His captor was a Northmen from the ice and cold, with the reported propensity to rape, pillage and kill. In the village, they had been the monsters under every child’s bed, the warning to keep every naughty child in line. Bloodthirsty folk, Uncle Jack had once said as if he’d met them before. The sudden memory of Uncle Jack brings the threat of tears burning behind his eyes, and Will buries his hand into the horse’s mane.

 _sadnesschokefearangerfearsadsadsad_ -

Hunger.

Will blinks as the tentative brushes of consciousness touch his own mind. Focusing, he reaches out.

The horse is thinking about her meal when she brings them back to their camp; oats and barley of the best kind. Her master has always given her the best, now isn’t she the luckiest horse? She does, however, wish that the squirming not-master human on her back would stop moving around so much, though. She isn’t exactly a young foal anymore.

‘I’m sorry.’ Will manages apologetically, trying very hard to be still. ‘But I’m afraid your master stole me.’

The horse neighs as her reins are pulled, and she drops to a slower trot as the light of his captor’s camp draws near. She was also stolen from her home many, many years ago by another man who was also not-master. He was cruel, that one. He had loved to use the whip even when she was riding her hardest. It was a good thing master had killed the man when he did.

‘Will you tell me that story sometime?’ Will asked, stroking her mane a little. From behind him, he could feel his captor shift. In the dim light, he could make out that the horse is a speckled grey mare.

She huffs, shaking her head as she is jerked to a total stop. His captor dismounts and his hood slips off, showing a gaunt, unhappy face. He grabs Will by the waist and hauls him over his shoulder. The mare neighs and stomps her hooves, agitated. ‘I will, child.’ She promised as she is led away by another man.

Will feels the crippling waves of fear wash over him, taking root in his chest. The captor enters into a darkened tent and Will feels the swelling grip tighten. He crosses the short distance from the entrance to a curtain divider in long strides, and Will yelps as he is dropped face first onto the pile of furs behind the curtain.

He immediately gets to his hands and knees, crawling over to the corner only to have his ankle yanked from under him. A cry of terror escapes him as the captor swiftly pulls Will onto his back, immobilizing him by pressing his body against his. Will arches his body, desperate to get away.

A painful grip on his jaw silences him. “Don’t. Try to run.” The captor murmurs, and Will could barely see beyond the veil of tears.


End file.
